


Gin tastes like lavender

by FailureArtist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Crime, F/F, First Love, Humanstuck, alcohol-use, bad girl rose lalonde, brief sex scene, come on baby be my bad girlfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailureArtist/pseuds/FailureArtist
Summary: Kanaya Maryam, the daughter of an almost-nun, meets bad girl Rose Lalonde at a 1920s women's college.





	Gin tastes like lavender

**Author's Note:**

> Rose's views do not reflect the author's. Do not smoke or steal or drink perfume!
> 
> This could be considered a prequel to Rose/Kanaya in DepressionStuck but it isn't.

Everyone at St. Lolar College for Women called you The Arab Girl or (inaccurately) The Greek Girl. Your real name is Kanaya Maryam. Back home, you were nicknamed “Jade”, “Amazon”, and “Bookworm” for your striking green eyes, your five foot eight inch stature, and your love of reading. However, at the very white St. Lolar, people just cared about your Levantine origins. Some thought you were a Mohammedan and were surprised you weren't in veil but actually your family came from a small Christian sect that survived thanks to the sultanate's disinterest. Your mother was a few days away from becoming a nun until she eloped with your father to New Mexico.

Upstate New York was very different from the New Mexico desert. New Mexico was filled with wide-open spaces. You could see forever. The weather was extreme. In Upstate New York, you couldn't see far without a tree or building getting in the way. The summers and winters weren't that harsh though people act like they are. While you did appreciate the green everywhere, you felt a little boxed-in. You wished your mother hadn't insisted you go to college in the Northeast.

She also insisted you go to a good old women's college instead of one of those new co-educational facilities. You didn't mind this at all, though you suppose she expected you would argue. Boys could be a bother. You tried to be friends with them and eventually they started thinking that you were their girl. It would be easier to study without having boys flirting with you in the library. Though you did plan on getting married and having a family, you wanted to delay courting as long as you could without becoming an old maid.

Perhaps it would have been smarter if your mother insisted you go to an all-boys college in drag. You wouldn't have met a girl like Rose Lalonde that way.

Though you had seen Rose Lalonde before, she was just one of the many pretty blondes at St. Lolar. You only really noticed her when she stood up in History of Civilization class and declared the decline of Roman Empire came from their embrace of Christianity over tolerant Paganism. The professor seemed surprised but he gently and patronizingly told her after taking his class she'd find she was wrong. She didn't back down and offered statistic and sarcasm. The class was taken up by this debate.

You'd never seen anyone talk to a teacher that way, let alone a girl. While you didn't want to think your mother's religion was bad, her theory was intriguing. When class was over, you hurried after her, ignoring the crowds of students. You found her leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. She was wearing a blouse that though a feminine violet was rather masculine and a black pleated skirt that went just past her knees. Though she was only two inches over five feet, she dominated that wall.

“Excuse me, Miss Lalonde?” you asked as you approached her.

Her kohl-rimmed eyes turned up to meet yours. You noticed that they weren't simply blue but rather a strange violet shade.

“Yes?” she responded.

Suddenly it was hard to speak.

She said, “I don't have any cigarettes to spare.”

“Oh no, I was not asking for that. I do not smoke.”

“That's what all the Freshman girls say.”

She blew some smoke rings. You watched them disappear before turning your head back to her.

“Um, I mean, I wanted to talk to you about Christianity.”

“Trying to convert me?”

“No, no, I am okay if you are Jewish or Mohammedan or...”

“Pagan.”

“Umm...or that. I do not want to discuss Christian theology. I just want to discuss the downfall of the Roman Empire.”

“So what do you have to say that our esteemed Professor Roberts hasn't said already?”

You had something you planned to say but you couldn't get it out. Instead you just watched her smoke until her cigarette had died down. She dropped the butt and ground it under a black Cuban-heeled Oxford shoe. She turned to look back up at you.

“Thank you for ruining my smoke,” she said.

Then she walked off before you could say anything.

All throughout the week, you could only think of what to say the next time you saw that very rude girl. You didn't know if you wanted to defend Christianity or denounce smoking first. You went to the library and studied both. However, you didn't see her around. She didn't attend History of Civilization all that week. You feared that she had decided college was beneath her intellect. Then you saw her in the cafeteria and you yelled across the room:

“Excuse me Miss Lalonde but you got the circumstances of Constantine's conversion completely wrong plus tobacco causes lung disease and is unbecoming of a lady.”

People turned to look at you like you were nuts before going back to eating. All you wanted was Miss Lalonde's attention. She came over and sat at your lonely table.

She said, “I was wondering when you were going to say something.”

And from then on you were friends. You ate together at every meal. You whispered together in the library. You spend time in each other's dormrooms until curfew was called. You'd hang out at the wall outside the history department discussing everything Professor Roberts got wrong that day.

She didn't stop smoking and she didn't stop blaming Christianity for the downfall of the Roman Empire (among other things). In fact, she got you to smoke. You almost threw up after your first cigarette but you stuck through it. You also found yourself tempted by her Paganism, though you still said the Christian prayers your ex-nun mother taught you. You still found plenty of other things to argue with Rose Lalonde about. Even when you agreed with her, you liked to argue for argument's sake.

She herself claimed to be a Thelemite, after the philosophy of this English wizard named Aleister Crowley. Its law was “Do what thou wilt” and she followed it. She claimed she could perform magick. Though this religion was bizarre and complicated, so was your own marginalized mother sect.

She was also fond of the ideas of this Austrian psychologist named Dr. Sigmund Freud. She liked to bring up his shocking theories on sex all the time. Privately she thought many of his ideas were ridiculous, such as girls resenting their mothers for not giving them a penis (she said the last thing she was angry about was not having a penis). Still, she agreed that repressing sex had caused all the neurosis and wars and monotheism in the world.

Though you knew all her opinions on religion, politics, and fashion, you didn't know anything about her. You knew her family consisted of a mother, a father, and no siblings. She talked about an equally-sarcastic cousin named Dave Strider but otherwise she didn't give any details about her family. You didn't even know what school she attended before she went to college. Instead, she joked about going to a school for magic in northern Scotland. One time she claimed to be the princess of a central European country named Derse. You could never get a straight answer from her about anything personal.

Then before Christmas Break she gave you her address. Her house wasn't located that far from the college. You had thought she'd live somewhere exotic like Paris or London or even New York City, not Potsdam. You in turn gave her your address.

You wrote to her telling her of the beauty of New Mexico and the joy of a Lebanese Christmas. You even sent some photos you took with your Brownie camera. You expected in her lengthy letter she'd tell you about her home and Christmas celebrations but other than a joke about sacrificing mistletoe to the Norse god Baldur she said nothing.

While you were away from school, your roommate Gertie got sick and had to drop out. Rose said she placed a curse on Gertie, who had always called Rose a “spooky trollop”, but Gertie had never been that healthy. You asked if Rose could be your new roommate and you got your wish. If the dean had known more, she wouldn't have said yes.

Now you and Rose could spend all your nights together. You didn't have to rush back to your own dormitory before the doors closed. It was hard getting to sleep with your new freedom. You never wanted to stop talking.

You celebrated your first night with a bottle of gin. You'd never had gin before, or any alcohol excepts sips of sacramental wine. The gin tasted of lavender. Possibly it wasn't gin but you got drunk off it anyway. From then on, lavender reminded you of her.

Now that Gertie wasn't watching, you could cuddle. You'd sit on the bed in your long nightgown and she'd lay her head in your lap. You'd play with her almost-white blonde hair and she'd spin theories until she fell asleep. Some times when she fell asleep, you had the urge to kiss her cute little ear, but you resisted every time.

You let Rose make you over. One weekend, you made a trip to Macy's in glamorous New York City and shoplifted clothes, even though she could have bought out the store. The straight line of the clothes didn't flatter your curvy body but you loved the bright colors and patterns. She cut your waist-length hair into a modern bob. Though you were afraid you'd look terrible in short hair, it turned out the bob framed your face perfectly. It was if you were designed for short hair. Then she gave you kohl-lined eyes, cupid bow lips, and jade eyeshade. You didn't know how you'd face your mother at the end of the term but with Rose you ignored that.

Then one night you went to a speakeasy in town. Rose said the word “swordfish” at a basement door and you two were led into a small smoke-filled bar. It wasn't the Stork Club but it felt like it to you. You both had gin, with lemonade in it to make it palatable. She flirted with all the men and you wanted to drag her away and take her home but you didn't want to be a wet blanket. You put your foot down when she was close to going home with this slick self-styled sheikh. He left in a huff after you told him she was married to a police officer. Oddly, Rose didn't seem angry about this.

Then you realized it was way past curfew time; the dorm doors would be locked. Luckily, there were rooms to rent for the night upstairs. You got one and tried to ignore that the rooms were for prostitutes. You washed your makeup the best you could with only water, stripped down to your shifts, and got in the tiny bed together.

It wasn't long after turning off the lights, when you were still too excited to sleep, that Rose turned to you.

“I love you, Kanny,” she slurred.

You turned to look at her. The room wasn't so dark that you couldn't see Rose's pale face.

“I love you too, Rose.”

“No, I mean reaaaaaally love you. Like you're a boy.”

“Ummm...”

“Come on and kiss me.”

You'd often wanted to kiss her when she was sleeping but right now? You never thought she would offer.

“Umm...ye-”

She then grabbed your head and kissed you hard. It was your first kiss, though plenty of boys had tried. You couldn't believe your first kiss was a girl. And that kiss tasted like gin.

She flipped herself so she was on top of you and she shoved your shift up. If she was a man, you'd have thrown her off and preserved your virtue, but right now you wanted her hands everywhere. She sucked on your overly-large unfashionable breasts. You felt that strange warmth and wetness you'd fell only on rare occasions. The gin made all the blood pool down to your lower half. She started kissing down and further down and you wondered how far she would dare take it. Then she went between your thighs and did something with her tongue that made your stomach drop. You didn't know that was a way people could pet. You wondered if she'd done it before, though the idea of their being a girl before you made you uncomfortable. The pleasure crescendoed and you wondered if you were going to have those orgasms that Freud wrote about but you'd never had before. Then everything hit. Your whole body spasmed as you grabbed the sheets. This orgasm was like fireworks going off in your head. And it all happened without a penis.

When you'd caught your breath, you were afraid Rose would ask for you to reciprocate. You didn't think you could take the taste. But instead of asking for that she lay next to you and fell fast asleep.

The next morning, you were hungover and silent. For a week, you talked about everything but that night. You wondered if she had forgotten but you were afraid to bring it up. Finally, next Saturday, as you sat in bed reading poetry, she brought it up.

“What I said that night, I meant,” she said firmly, “I do love you like you were a boy.”

You looked away from the book to her. “I...I love you too.”

She grimaced. “Like a sister or like a boy?”

“I have never loved a boy so I would not know what that is like.” You took a deep breath. “I do not love you as a sister.”

Her grimace turned into a real smile. “Then do you want to be sweethearts?”

“Can two girls be sweethearts?”

“There is a Boston Marriage. Two spinsters live together and no one cares. My great-aunt is in one with her long-time girlfriend.”

“Really?”

“They live in connecting bedrooms and one bedroom isn't as lived in as the other.”

“But it is a sin!”

“It wouldn't be our first sin, would it?”

“I suppose.”

Then Rose leaned in to kiss you and you leaned in too and you committed a sober sin. You necked as if you were a boy and a girl. It was wrong but it felt so _right_.

So now you were sweethearts. You kept it a secret, of course, but you didn't have to act much different. People seemed not to notice. You wondered if the other girls at the college were also sweethearts.

Though you necked every night, you didn't go further than that. Perhaps you were both too nervous. It was only after Rose procured another bottle of gin that you went into heavy petting. She did that wonderful thing that she did that night after the speakeasy. You were brave enough to reciprocate. She tasted odd, but no worse than the gin. The taste was worth it to see and hear Rose come completely undone. You never did do anything without alcohol involved.

She did flirt with men and women alike, though thankfully never professors. One time there was this Russian girl of noble extraction named Miss Meenah Peixes. Rose told Miss Meenah that she'd like to go to her house and know her better and the way she said it sounded like she meant biblical. And you were right there listening! It didn't help that Miss Meenah could pull off the boyish look. Rose never did go to Miss Meenah's house though.

You still didn't know much about Rose's life. You told her everything about your life, including the embarrassing parts, but she didn't reciprocate. She wanted you to report on your dreams every morning but she wouldn't explain what her nightmares were about.

Despite all these problems, your relationship with Rose felt magical. Every day felt special. You felt like a bold force on the universe, defying the rules by existing. You weren't just Kanaya Maryam and Rose Lalonde, you were Rosemary. Yet you were afraid it wouldn't last. Rose might have one aunt who was lucky enough to get “married” to her girlfriend but most women didn't. For now, you'd have fun.

Your mother did not approve of Rose Lalonde and the changes she made on you. You'd tried to hide your bob during Easter Break by wearing a wig but your mother saw through it. She tried getting your rooms switched but failed. You delivered your letters to Rose in town rather than trusting the front yard mailbox.

Your Sophomore Year with Rose was less intense than the Freshman Year but still very happy. It was during the Summer Break that disaster struck.

In late August, Rose sent you a letter saying she was going to be married and she wanted you to be the bridesmaid.

You wanted to rip up the letter. How dare she break your heart and then ask you to participate in the wedding! Who was this John Egbert anyway? How long had that been going on? Why was she dropping out of school for this! You didn't want to be a bridesmaid. Your mother, charmed by the photo of a newly long-haired Rose, thought you should be the reformed friend's bridesmaid. You said yes, but only because you planned an epic chewing out.

Yet when the chauffeur drove you up to the very modern Lalonde Mansion and Rose greeted you, you couldn't get out your speech. She looked so beaten down. Her long hair was beautiful but it didn't suit her. You met Rose's mother, who you didn't even know the first name of before she was introduced as Mrs. Roxanne Lalonde. Mrs. Lalonde had a drink permanently in her hand. Her attitude towards her daughter alternated between mawkish and chilly. You found her beautiful but charmless. She'd long been divorced from Mr. Arnold Lalonde, who lived in the South of France. He wasn't going to attend the wedding, saying the travel would be bad for him. You finally got to meet Dave Strider, who Rose always quoted. He was more awkward in reality than he was in Rose's letters. The rest of Rose's family were stuck-up Anglo-Saxons who didn't like that an Arab would take a prominent place in a Lalonde wedding.

Rose's fiance was a different story. You'd been prepared to loathe John Egbert with all your being but he turned out to be such sweet adorable boy you couldn't. He was good-looking, you suppose, for a man. An All-American Boy. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, bright blue eyes – though with buck-teeth. He treated Rose like a gentleman. However, he couldn't keep up with her intellectually. If he knew you were Rose's sweetheart (or ex-sweetheart?) he didn't say anything.

Rose said she met John through Dave. John and Dave were long-time pen pals. Last summer, John took a vacation in Adirondack Mountains and found Dave's much-quoted cousin lived near by when he and Rose visited the same general store in Potsdam. They became friends. She didn't tell you this last summer but when did she ever tell you anything? You kept trying to ask how they went from friends to sweethearts but Rose was mysterious or sarcastic or just vague.

It took three days to get the truth. You were sitting in her room looking over fashion plates. Normally you'd love this but you resented having to pick out an outfit for your ex-sweetheart to wear on her honeymoon. After a long uncomfortable silence, Rose spoke:

“I'm pregnant.” Her voice was flat and soft.

“What? How??” you asked.

“The normal way. I slept with a man.”

“What man?”

“It was my future fiance. Have some faith in me that I wouldn't cuckold him.”

“Why did you sleep with John in the first place?”

“He found out his father died suddenly. I tried to cheer him up by getting him drunk and we ended up together.”

“Alcohol is not a good excuse for cheating! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Don't you think I already feel terrible?! I've broken your heart and I'm on the path to becoming my mother!”

“You chose that path when you slept with John!”

“I refuse to chose that path!”

“It is too late now.”

“Kanaya Maryam, it is never too late.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I had a prophetic dream two nights ago.”

“More magick? You will cast a spell that will make all your decision that are regrettable go away. Because I am tired of your super -”

“Look in the hope chest.”

“What?”

She pointed to the large wooden chest at the foot of her bed. “There's something in the hope chest for you.”

You groaned. You didn't care about whatever pointless amulet she had. Still, you would look in the hope chest. You lifted the heavy lid and on top of the linen and sweaters was two silver-handled pistols. You dropped the lid in shock.

“You have guns?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do with them? Murder John?”

“No, we'll rob a bank, escape to Mexico, and raise my baby on a ranch."

“This is one of your strange jokes, is it not?”

“For once, it's not a joke. That's what I saw in the dream."

You'd like to say you thought long and hard about it and made a reasonable decision but you didn't. You opened the lid and picked up a gun. It felt so right in your hands. You could do this.

So that's why you robbed a bank. 

  
  


 

  
  


  
  


 

  
  


  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> An "i don't know how to end this" ending. It's a happy ending, isn't it?


End file.
